Start Here!
Welcome to Tales on the Way!
My name is Brannley Miller, and I write Sci-Fi/Fantasy short stories with a dark, supernatural twist.
I like to keep you on your toes with stories that are odd and eerily disturbing. My goal is to write fiction that is dark and gritty, yet not devoid of hope. Whether or not I can execute on that ideal is another issue.
Use this page as your guide!
General Info:
To learn more about me and what you can expect from Tales on the Way, check out my about page.
If you want to catch up on my past work, you can find my archive here.
And if you want to learn more about my personal writing philosophy, then this is a great post to start with:
A Beginning of Sorts
Greetings, and welcome to my humble little Substack! If you’re wondering how you got here, don’t panic, I’m wondering the same thing myself.
Recommendations:
Looking for place to jump write in? Here are some of my most popular stories:
It came in the night, that deplorable abyss, silent as the grave and deeper than hell was dark, out on the far side of town where the drought had drunk the last bit of fertile soil. Hardly a soul knew of the pit’s arrival, for it did not come in a flash of lightning, nor in a quake of the earth. Were it not for the curious wanderings of two orphan boys beyond the outskirts of town, the Sinkhole and the secrets it contained would have been allowed to fester in peace.
Amidst the swells of a nameless ocean there stands a lone island. Its mass protrudes above the waves like the crown of a long-drowned mountain, with shores ringed by black sand beaches, and hills adorned with a patchy coat of blue-green grass. The island’s spine is speckled with the backs of wooly sheep, like specks of paint God hadn’t bothered to scrape away. A lone obelisk of mortared stone stands above it all, erected atop the tallest point on the island.
It was the Year of Recounting, a time when the Rephor people of Jokhthen would gather in remembrance of their people’s history. It was a time of reflection, of rejoicing; a time of mourning, and a time of looking to the future. Shemesh recounted his people’s saga from memory as he ascended the stairs leading to the grand plateau, where the Ceremony of Remembrance was being held. The tribe’s leaders would be gathered there, awaiting his arrival, having been well-fed and well-drank.